


our agent in the wild

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, serving your gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Fero follows his impulses.





	our agent in the wild

**Author's Note:**

> I just want fero to feel safe!!!! The finale got me real upset!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> thanks to sophie for betaing, and maddie for emotional support

The woods are quiet on Fero's way to the Erasure. Even his footsteps are muffled by the snow. Given that he hasn't seen another living creature for miles, he should probably try to get used to the lack of sound. 

 

He wonders whether the animals have fled, running from whatever danger lurks at the heart of the Erasure, or whether the quiet here should be added to his rapidly growing list of mistakes. Then again, maybe it's been this quiet in the woods for awhile, and he just never noticed when there was someone else to talk to. He’s sure he used to be better at noticing, at following that sense of the wild.

 

That it's impossible to know doesn't make him feel any lighter. He  _ should  _ know, should be able to taste it in the air and feel it under his feet. The woods are  _ his  _ place. 

 

Or, they used to be.

 

A wave of tiredness comes over Fero and he stumbles over his own feet. It's getting late in the day and he's been walking for hours. Maybe he should call it for the night. 

 

He makes his way to a rocky outcropping and settles down to watch the changing skyline. It's been awhile since he saw a sunset. He'd forgotten the sky could turn that many colours. It almost feels a shame there isn’t anyone with him to watch it, not that there’s anyone he’d  _ want _ to watch it with. Not that there’s anyone who’d ask him.

 

The air takes on a bite to it after the sun finally sets. Fero watches his breath mist in the air, his fingers stiffening with the cold as he looks for shelter. 

 

There's a hole, a burrow on the slope of the hill, long since abandoned by whatever creature made it. It’s just large enough for Fero to wriggle his way inside, cushioned by the earth and the musty scent of damp leaves. The dirt still feels as though it has some of the heat of the new sun left in it and Fero presses his hands to it, trying to warm them. 

 

He'd be warmer - not to mention more comfortable - if he turned into a smaller animal. Fero can remember the feeling of curling up, the fur of the tail tickling his nose or tucking his head under a feathered wing, and the feeling of security that brought with it. The ability is right there inside him, no harder to reach than breathing, calling to him.

 

Fero wriggles again, trying to find a more comfortable spot in the hard, cooling dirt, shaking off the impulse. It wouldn't have that feeling of security now. Nowhere and nothing does, not in these times, but especially not that particular thing. There's too many chances he'd have to take, chances that rely on other people. That those people are gods does not make them any more reliable. 

 

Add to that that it might not even work. Or, if it did work, it might go wrong in a way he wouldn’t even know about yet, in a way he might not know about for weeks or months, when it’s far too late to undo the damage. 

 

He pillows his head on his arms, his fingers digging into the hard-packed soil. He can feel the grit of the earth where it pushes under his nails. It’s silent, keeping its thoughts to itself, but it's nice to know it's there, solid underneath him, as he finally lets his eyes slip closed. 

 

When he opens them again, he is… somewhere else. 

 

A room, no, a tent, lit by lamplight. There’s a haziness to it he associates with visions, a strange tint to the colours. Dust swirls in the air, sticking in his throat, and Fero coughs. He jumps as someone lays a cool palm flat against his back, leaving it there until his coughs subside. Fero knows who it is before he turns around. 

 

“Our agent returns,” says Severea. 

 

There is a wry twist to her tone, the low light making it difficult to read her expression as he twists his head to look up at her.

 

“I didn't mean to!” says Fero, “I just fell asleep.”

 

“It seemed as though you were trying to reach us,” says Severea, “maybe there was something you wanted to add to our earlier conversation?”

 

“Nope,” Fero says, “just sleeping.”

 

Galenica steps forward, taking Fero's hands and holding them up into the light. His hands are as caked with dirt as if he'd buried them up to the wrist in mud. 

 

“That's not--” He pulls against their hands. They hold him easily, not changing their grip, as though he was making no action at all. “This isn’t real. This is some kind of weird trick, and it's not funny. I don't know what kind of stuff you pull with your other agents but this stuff won't fly with me.” 

 

Severea frowns. “We don’t have other agents. And we don’t play tricks.”

 

Fero makes a face. “It can't be just  _ me _ , that's  _ ridiculous _ , that's, that's-- look, you can't put all of this on me, okay?”

 

“You accepted our gifts,” says Severea, “why shouldn't you accept our tasks too?”

 

“Because I didn't know if was you that was giving them to me! I didn't know I was making a  _ deal,  _ that's not fair, I didn't know there were rules, you can't just, you--” he stumbles over his words, looking down at the dirt, cracked and drying, on his hands, “I didn't know there were  _ rules _ .”

 

Galenica loosens their grip, but Fero doesn't pull away. He’s been walking  _ all day _ and he’s  _ tired _ .

 

“Oh, little sparrow,” sighs Severea. 

 

She lays her hands on top of Fero's. He can feel the tips of her fingers brushing against Galenica's, a whisper of movement in a quiet space. Some of the dirt flakes off, drifting in the air. Fero watches it as it winks in and out of the light.

 

His eyes prickle and he shuts them. For a single, terrifying moment, he feels himself in the cold burrow under the earth, alone, before the warmth of the tent returns. 

 

“Oh,” says Severea again, “little sparrow.”

 

The wry tone is gone from her voice, replaced with something softer. Fero doesn't open his eyes, afraid of jolting himself out of the warm vision. 

 

He feels Galenica steps closer. Their body is unyielding but warm, like the side of a mountain in the sun. They let go of his hands, resting them lightly on his shoulders. Severea squeezes his hands, her arms warm against his sides.

 

“We  _ did  _ ask you to journey with us,” says Severea. 

 

Fero swallows hard around the lump in his throat. 

 

“I don't-- I'm not good with groups,” says Fero, “something always goes wrong, or people decide they don't like me, or-- and anyway, it's not like you guys don't have enough people with you to help you do whatever.”

 

“But they are not you,” says Severea.

 

Her tone is light and simple, as though she were making a passing comment on the weather, but it makes Fero feel like the wind's been knocked out of him. 

 

“I've always thought gods were too busy to worry over individuals,” says Fero, once he manages to refind his voice. 

 

“We've been know to make exceptions for special cases,” says Galenica. 

 

His eyes are still closed, but he tilts his face up towards them. He can feel Severea and Galenica's bodies surrounding him on both sides, two arched forms overhead shielding him from the world. 

 

Severea slides her cool fingers through Fero's hair to cup his cheek. “All you had to do was ask us, little one. We have much to do, it's true, but we can take the time to reassure those who need it.”

 

“Always time for that,” murmurs Galenica in front of him. 

 

Fero’s eyes sting, and he squeezes them shut tighter. He feels Severea swipe a thumb across his cheek, wiping away tears. The movement feels so real, more solid than any vision he's ever had before. He's never been so afraid that a vision would end, to go back into a still and quiet world, to go back to being alone. 

 

“You're never alone,” says Severea. 

 

Fero presses his lips together. He's not sure if he said that aloud or if Severea plucked the thought from his head. 

 

Severea bends, a graceful swoop in a swish of fabric, to press a kiss to Fero’s forehead.. 

 

“We are always with you,” says Severea, “in every tree and rock and bird, in every transformation you take, in the wind you breathe into your lungs and the soil beneath your feet, in your successes and in your failures. We hear you, we see you, we know you.”

 

Fero feels as though he can remember more failures than successes, many of which he'd felt glad of-- at the time-- that no one could see them. His whole body feels like a raw nerve, inside and out. 

 

“I'm sorry,” says Fero. His throat aches. 

 

He can feel Galenica sigh, the sound of wind on stone. “What's done is done. What matters now is what you chose for the future.”

 

“I want to help,” says Fero, “I don't-- I have a lot of ideas, but people don't listen, they never listen to me, even though I'm right! I've always been right!” Irritation bubbles up inside him, hot and scratching. “And they just ignore me and then they leave, and it all goes wrong, and then if I ever even try to say I told you so they just leave again, they won't even hear me out, and I-- I--”

 

Galenica’s hand cards through Fero's hair, their fingers warm and solid against his scalp. “Hush.”

 

Severea’s fingers trail after Galenica’s, her fingers slim and cool by contrast, like a trickle of fresh river water. Fero stills. 

 

“We know,” says Severea. “I'm glad you've decided to help.”

 

“I  _ have _ helped,” says Fero, “I'm  _ always  _ helping, people just decide not to notice.”

 

“I suppose that's true,” says Severea. “But I'm glad you've decided to help more than one person at a time.”

 

“I don't want to--” Fero breaks off, biting his lip, “You're not going to make me do that ‘ends justify the means’ shit Hadrian's always spouting off, are you?”

 

“It's not a total command of you,” says Severea, and he can hear the smile in her voice, “it's more that we ask you to take our counsel into consideration a little more often. You are mostly fine as you are, only now you go on with the knowledge that you are ours.”

 

She and Galenica continue to card their fingers through his hair. The warmth of Galenica's body has begun to seep through into him. He sighs, leaning his forehead against them, feeling Severea relax into him in turn. The fabric of her dress ripples against him like water. 

 

Fero sighs contentedly. “Yeah, that sounds okay.” He pauses. “Hey do I have to do any rituals?”

 

“Rituals?”

 

“Yeah, rituals,” says Fero, his voice slightly muffled from where he's leaning his forehead against Galenica. “Like, Hadrian and Ephrim took vows and say prayers and stuff, for their god.”

 

“You already did,” says Severea, “the first time you turned into a creature and took joy in it.”

 

“That's it?” says Fero. 

 

Severea hums. “Well. There is another one I'm fond of. It’s a little… primal. Although perhaps that would suit you.”

 

“What would I have to do?” asks Fero.

 

Galencia laughs, a low rumble. “You wouldn’t  _ have _ to do anything. It’s not a ritual we force. It is to be enjoyed.”

 

Fero tilts his head to one side. “That sounds okay.”

 

Galencia adds a slight pressure to where they’re petting Fero’s hair. Severea runs her hands from Fero’s head, down his sides, slipping them under his shirt. She spreads her hands wide, fingers brushing against his skin. Her hands are cool on on his skin, but they leave heated trails in their wake. Fero gasps.

 

“It’s a very old ritual,” says Severea. “But your body will know what to do.”

 

Galencia hums, shifting to slip one of their thighs in between Fero’s legs. Severea moves behind him, pressing him forward. The friction of the movement sends a jolt of heat through Fero, and he bites his lip. It’s easy to repeat the motion, even without Severea’s hands to guide him. The impulse comes from the same place as taking a step or turning into a bird, simple and easy.

 

Severea keeps her hands on his sides, tracing tiny, swirling patterns on his skin. Fero thinks of the ocean waves upon a shore, and his body follows the idea, his hips rolling against Galencia’s thigh in a slow rhythm.

 

Galencia keeps their hand in his hair, their strokes matching the motion of Fero’s hips. One of Severea’s hands travels back up his body to join it. He hears Galencia make a pleased noise, and Severea presses forward, leaning over him more for a moment before pulling back again. 

 

She slides her hand through his hair from the nape of his neck, letting her nails scrape against his scalp. Fero whines, trying to lean as far into her touch as he can. 

 

Her nails change, becoming claws, becoming talons. They catch on his hair, pulling a little sharper than before. Fero’s hands tangle themselves in Galencia’s robe, his breath ragged as he moves against their leg.

 

Galencia in front of him is warm and solid. Severea is behind him, fluid, ever changing. She feels like the flutter of wings, the scratch of claws, the soft touch of fur. Fero lets out a low moan, grinding his hips down onto Galenica's thigh. 

 

“Our agent in the wild.” Severea’s voice shudders through him, like stone grating against stone.

 

Severea's fingers tighten in his hair, closing around Galenica's. 

 

“ _ Ours _ ,” agrees Galenica, their voice sure and steady. 

 

Fero gasps as he comes, thrusting wild and erratic against Galenica's thigh. Severea wraps her arms around him from behind like a cloak, keeping him pressed between their bodies. With his eyes closed, the sense of them is his entire vision, his entire world.

 

Severea runs a hand softly through his hair, murmuring quietly above him to Galenica. Fero can’t hear the words, but the tone is soft and fond. It feels like moss growing quietly, or the shining gems of the roof of his home, or a small animal nuzzling his palm. It feels like home.

  
  


Fero opens his eyes slowly. It takes him a moment to figure out why the burrow looks so odd-- he's a lot smaller now than when he closed his eyes, a rabbit in fact. Panic runs through him-- hehadntmeantto-- whatiftheyreallgonenow--

 

“Hush,” whispers Severea in his mind, “rabbits remain, I promise. Sleep.”

 

Fero's trembles lessen. He can almost feel Severea and Galenica's fingers carding through his fur. 

 

“Sleep,” says Severea again.

 

Fero does. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins


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